


The Monster in the Basement

by miss_aphelion



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Psychological Warfare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 12:28:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18052511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_aphelion/pseuds/miss_aphelion
Summary: "Erik doesn't believe that you can change," Charles says. "I think you can. Don't you?""Oh, certainly," Shaw agrees. "It's just that it's so much harder to get better than it is to get worse."(Or; Erik knew that if he killed Shaw he would lose Charles forever, so he let Shaw live. Now Charles is determined to save Shaw from himself, and Erik is terrified that he's going to lose him anyway—to a far worse fate)





	The Monster in the Basement

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story like eight years ago, holy shit. But it’s always been one of my favorites, and I never had it finished enough to post it, so I finally went in and touched it up so I could share. It’s based on [this amazing prompt](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/6192.html?thread=7437104#t7437104), but probably no one is still following that.

Every time Charles wakes up screaming, Erik imagines taking those winding steps down to the basement and slowly driving that cursed coin through Sebastian Shaw's brain.

But Charles stops him, every single time. 

"This can't go on forever," Erik says tightly. 

"I know," Charles tells him, and he is pale and shaking. Erik knows that look in Charles' eyes, has seen it before in the camps. This is what Shaw does to people—of all of them, how can Charles be so blind? "We're making progress." 

"Shaw's making progress," Erik snaps, pulling his arm from Charles' grip. "That room won't hold him much longer. You had your chance, it's time to do things my way." 

"If you kill him, Erik," Charles says, his voice cracking. "I don't know what it will do to me." 

"You're connected to him, even now, aren't you?" Erik demands. He thinks of that helmet Shaw had—he wonders if it would work, if he placed it on Charles. Maybe it would be enough to protect Charles while Erik did what he should have done back on the beach in Cuba.

"I need more time," Charles says. "I promise I’m making progress, Erik. There's good in him somewhere, I'll find it."

"If there is any good in Shaw," Erik says tightly, "it'll be whatever he's ripped from you." 

"You don't understand," Charles says. "I've been in so many minds. There is no such thing as true evil." 

Erik reaches out and tilts his head up gently. "I'd really like for you to continue believing that," he says. "I would kill Shaw a hundred times, for that reason alone." 

"One month," Charles says. "Give me one more month." 

Erik lets him go. "One month," he agrees grudgingly. "And not a single day more."

* * * * * 

He sits tamely on his side of the table, hands folded across the top and expression serene. "And how are we feeling today?"

Charles watches him carefully. "You're not in control here, Shaw," he says. "You're not fooling either of us." 

"It is a lovely prison," Shaw agrees, glancing around in distaste. The walls were electrified with a charge that instead of feeding his power, drained it. It was some strange sort of negative reaction that was making his skin crawl, though he smiles to mask it. It's a flimsy attempt at best, because he knows better than to think he can hide anything from Charles. "Our furry little friend, I'm assuming?" 

Charles ignores him. "I saw your childhood last night." 

"Yes, that was a gift, just a little something from me to you," Shaw says. "Did you enjoy it?" 

"I might have, if it had been remotely true," Charles says. "But you were sending me fantasies." 

"So you can tell the difference, I had wondered," Shaw says. "But it wasn't all a lie, do you know which parts were real?" 

"The death of your father," Charles says. 

"Very good," Shaw says, as though Charles has passed some sort of test. "My father is certainly very dead." 

"I felt what you felt," Charles says gently. "You loved him. You loved once, Shaw. You could again." 

"Could I?" Shaw asks. "And who do you suppose I should love? You?" 

"You could start with yourself," Charles says. 

"Why do I feel suddenly as though I should be laying on some couch?" Shaw asks. "Why don't you call down the kids, we'll share all around." 

"You're right," Charles says, and sighs. "That was a platitude, and I'm sorry. It doesn't change that it's the truth. You have so much anger in you, Shaw, and more than a little of it is directed at yourself." 

"That's because I'm angry for letting you get one over on me," Shaw says. "It's no grand self-recrimination about my life choices, I assure you. Merely disappointment at this rather minor setback."

"You consider this minor?" Charles asks. "There's no way you're getting out of this room." 

"There's one way," Shaw says. "You could let me out. That's your plan, isn't it? You're going to fix me, and then send me on my way? Maybe I could be a Doctor again, reformed, off to save lives. What do you think? I'm really quite handy with a scalpel." 

"I want you well, but I will never set you free," Charles says. "Erik wouldn't allow it, even if I were considering it myself." 

"Ah, yes. Erik. Tell me, is he watching us now?" Shaw asks. 

"After the incident, I thought it best he didn't," Charles says. 

"The incident, such a lovely way to label a murder attempt," Shaw says. "It really was quite adorable, though, the way he rushed to your aid. Ridiculous, considering you're the only one that can subdue me, but adorable all the same. When exactly did the two of you start fucking?" 

"That's a strange assumption for you to have made," Charles says. 

"Not so strange, because see, you're manipulating him," Shaw says. "I know you are, because he wants me dead, and you don't, and here I am. You're too ethical to mess with _his_ head, so you have some other power over him." 

"I asked him to let you live," Charles says. "That's all." 

Shaw laughs. "You know, I think you really believe that. You're entirely unaware of the effect you have, aren't you? You have no idea how much I wish I'd found you when you were young, I could have molded you into something truly astounding." 

Charles grips the table as Shaw reminisces about what he'd done to Erik, to the other children, as he fantasizes about what he would have done to Charles. He keeps his gaze steady on Shaw, riding the images like a wave, searching steadily beneath them for remorse. 

"You really do have such lovely eyes," Shaw tells him, as his thoughts clear. "You and my Emma both. It's like nature is trying to even the score—you can see into us, but we can see straight back into you." 

"And what is it you see?" Charles asks, leaning forward. 

"So curious," Shaw says, grinning. "It gets lonely, doesn't it? Being so powerful. And Erik, well, it's obvious he doesn't understand you at all." 

"I think you're projecting," Charles says. "I have plenty of people around me, you're the one alone." 

"Ah, but it's different for you, isn't it?" Shaw asks, leaning forward to meet Charles' halfway. "I learned from Emma what it is to be a telepath, and you're far stronger than her. You could crush us all with very little effort. I bet you get bored, pretending like you couldn't change your entire world with a mere thought." 

"You're missing the point," Charles says. "If I used my power to get whatever I wanted, that's when things would get boring." 

"You can't really know that for sure, because you've never tried," Shaw says. "It's such a shame you're wasting yourself with Erik. He was my prodigy, true, but you succeeded where I could not. You made him as good as he's going to get, and now he won't repay the favor with you. He tells you not to use it, doesn't he? He doesn't want you in his head." 

Charles watches him carefully, unfazed by Shaw's goading. He slips into his mind, searching his motivations, cataloguing his intent. Shaw's mind is far more slippery than most—and there is always that ever present malice, coating everything like a layer of dust. 

Shaw grins, like he knows exactly what Charles is doing. "You can come in mine any time you like," he says. "I understand you, Charles. Better than him."

"Erik understands more than you give him credit for," Charles tells him. 

"See, I know that isn't true," Shaw says. 

"How could you?" Charles asks. 

"Because I'm still alive," Shaw says. 

* * * * * 

"What do you mean you sent them away?" Erik demands. 

"Hank had a conference, I told them all to go and have fun," Charles says. "They need a break, Erik, they needed to get away from this place. It's not as though I don't have the money." 

"And what about you?" Erik demands. "You're just going to stay locked up in the basement with Shaw? That seem healthy to you?" 

"It's hardly the opportune moment for me to take a vacation," Charles says. "I've only got a month left." 

"What is it that you think is going to happen?" Erik asks. "He doesn't believe in anything but himself. You can't save someone that doesn't want to be saved." 

"I have to try," Charles says. "Unless I can reach him—" 

"Unless you can reach him, I'm going to kill him," Erik says firmly.

Charles does not rise to the bait. "You have to remember, these things don't happen overnight," he says. 

"No, but it better happen within the month," Erik snaps. 

Charles sighs, running a hand over his eyes. "Erik," he starts. 

"I don't need the details," Erik snaps. "Don't expect me to be happy about this." 

"I would never ask you to forgive him," Charles says firmly. "I hope you know that. I know very well what he's done to you, but killing him won't make things right, it won't change what he's done. If he can accept what he's done as wrong, if he can see that—" 

"That's never going to happen, Charles," Erik snaps. "You don't see what's going on, but I do. Shaw enjoys his sessions with you. You think you're running them, but I wouldn't be so sure." 

"I've been inside his head," Charles says. "I know that he thinks he can manipulate me, but I know all his plans before he tries them. I can take care of myself." 

"Can you?" Erik asks. "If it came down to it, if the only way to save yourself was to kill him, would you do it?" 

"I can stop him without killing him," Charles says. 

"That isn't what I asked," Erik says. "You need to be prepared to kill him if it comes to it, because I guarantee he's prepared to kill you." 

"I will do what I have to," Charles promises. 

Erik frowns, because Charles is still side-stepping the question—but Erik is sick of fighting, and pulls him close, placing a kiss on his temple. "You don't want to know what I will do," Erik whispers, "if he takes you from me too." 

"I'm not going anywhere," Charles promises. 

But he still goes down those stairs to the basement the next day. And the next. And the day after that. He feels like Orpheus, and he's terrified to turn and check that Charles is still there. 

Erik's coin dances between his fingers while he silently waits, never once touching his skin. 

* * * * * 

"I do, of course, realize I'm quite mad," Sebastian says pleasantly, as he splays his fingers out on the surface of the table. "They like to say you're not crazy if you're able to perceive your own madness, but I really don't believe that's true. I think it's far more dangerous to be mad and know that you're mad than the other way around, don't you?"

Charles sighs, watching Shaw carefully. "That depends," he says. "Do you want to be mad, or do you want to get better?" 

"I think being mad is better," Shaw insists. "The world is mad, Charles. You cannot rule it sane." 

"Is that really what you want?" Charles asks. "You want to rule the world? What would you do with it, once it was yours?" 

"Rebuild it, of course," Shaw says. "There's a special place I have in mind for you." 

"When did you go mad?" Charles asks, ignoring the light in Shaw's eyes as he looks across at him, the images that enter his mind of a large silken bed, and a slim, silver collar. 

"I don't really recall," Shaw says. "There's my horrible childhood, of course. We could blame that. The excuse has done wonders for Erik, certainly." 

"Let's not discuss Erik, please," Charles says. 

"Ah, yes, I forgot he was off limits," Shaw says, closing his eyes and thinking of Erik—Erik tied down and crying, Erik's eyes lit up with power and raging, Erik—

"Stop," Charles shouts, getting his feet. "Stop it." 

"You react more to Erik than any of the other children," Shaw says. "I find that interesting. I mean, of course your reaction is going to be more emotional when it's someone that you know, but it's the scale of it that I find concerning. I know you have him wrapped around your little finger, but I had no idea the attraction went both ways." 

"You use them like entertainment," Charles breathes. "You say you're mad, well, those things you've done, that's the reason why. That's what _I_ find concerning." 

"The reason?" Shaw asks curiously. "Not the result?" 

Charles takes a steadying breath and leans across the table. "Do you want me to take it away?" he asks. "Because I can." 

"You say take it away," Shaw says. "That's such a telling way to state it—because you can't just erase it, can you? If you take it from me, then it's yours." 

"You don't have to worry about me," Charles says. 

"Oh, but, Charles, I do," Shaw says. "I do worry about you." 

"I won't do it by force, not even to you," Charles says. "But I think we both know what happens if I fail to help you."

"Take it," Shaw says, almost kindly. "I want you to have it." 

* * * * * 

He finds Charles in the kitchen. He's so relieved to find him out of the basement that he doesn't notice anything wrong, at first. He just looks like Charles. His arms are folded on the counter, with his chin resting on his forearm, eerily focused.

The light from the window is painting his hair almost gold, and his eyes supernaturally blue. He looks like something from a dream, too beautiful to be real. And then Charles' eyes flicker up to meet his, and Erik feels his heart stop.

The eyes don't look any different, really. They're still that beautiful blue, but the light is glancing off them like they've been spun into stained glass. They look _empty_. Charles says nothing as he returns his gaze to the counter, and Erik swallows his unease. 

"What are you looking at?" Erik finally demands, stepping closer to look over his shoulder. 

There is a spider with five legs on its back on the counter, twisting as it tries to right itself. Erik can see its torn legs spread around him, thin little broken black lines. Charles is staring at it with blank curiosity, detached in a way Erik's never seen before on him—but he's seen it before, on someone else.

"Do you think they feel pain the same way we do?" Charles asks him, staring at the squirming spider as he taps the fingers of one hand along the tile. "I can't feel them, so it's so hard to know if they do. It's like they don't even really exist."

Erik feels something building in him, terror or rage or both, and he slams his fist down on the spider, killing it instantly. Charles glances up at him with a frown. "Why did you do that?" he asks. 

"It was dying," Erik snaps. "I was just putting it out of its misery."

"Was it in misery?" Charles asks, glancing back towards the dead spider. "How do you know? They don't have minds the way we do. There's no conscious thought, I listen and its white noise. Maybe they don't feel pain. Maybe they feel nothing at all." 

"Charles," Erik says, and the anger has bled from his voice. He sounds broken, but Charles doesn't seem to notice. He just shrugs, and turns to go. 

"Well," Charles says. "I guess we'll never really know."

* * * * * 

He lets the anger build for awhile, trying to talk himself into keeping his word. Then he decides it's fitting, anyway, if he doesn't keep his word it's because of Shaw—because Shaw's the one that taught him the value of broken promises. 

He slips down to the basement and unlocks the door, and Shaw is waiting for him, just sitting at the table in the center of the room. There's a small bathroom and an old cot, but Shaw doesn't ever seem to leave that chair. 

"Erik, how surprising to see you here. Charles let you come visit, unsupervised?" Shaw asks wryly. "How very unlike him." 

"I don't need his permission," Erik snaps, as he absentmindedly closes the door behind him, spinning the locks back into place with a thought. 

"Could have fooled me," Shaw says. "I thought we were running everything by him these days. I mean, he is the most powerful of us. What must that be like for you? Tell me, do you ever wonder, Erik, if your actions are your own?" 

Shaw leans back in his chair, staring at Erik in mock concern. "Because it's very unlike you not to kill me," he continues. "I have to wonder if Charles' hasn't been playing around in both our heads. He's very talented, I bet you wouldn't know." 

"I'm more concerned with what you've been doing to him," Erik snaps, slamming his hands down on the table. 

Shaw's hands are both chained, though the chains are long enough he can move anywhere in the small room. It had been a condition of Erik's that he had refused to give into—Shaw would be chained. Here, where Shaw could not use his power, he was subject to Erik's. 

It would be so easy to form a sharp point from every link in that chain, and slice straight through his neck. 

"Now, Erik," Shaw says, making a 'tsk, tsk' sound of disapproval. "You know you can't kill me. You wouldn't want to upset Charles." 

"I want to know what you're planning," Erik says. 

"I'm not planning anything," Shaw says. "I'm trying to get better. Charles has helped me so much already." 

"You're lying," Erik snaps. "You've done something to him."

"I'm flattered you think me so capable," Shaw says, holding up his bound hands. "But I'm afraid I can do very little at the moment. Whatever's been done, has been done by your precious Charles." 

Erik narrows his eyes and the chains start to lift, spinning upwards to slam and twist around Shaw's neck. Erik watches dispassionately as Shaw futilely reaches up to try and pull them off. 

Then suddenly the chains are hanging limply around a frozen Shaw, and Erik is being pushed half out the door. It takes him a moment to realize what has happened, because Charles has never used that particular power on him. He wonders how long it took Charles, while he and Shaw stood there frozen, to untangle all of those chains. 

"You promised," Charles shouts at him, pulling the door shut behind them just as Shaw starts moving again. 

"Charles," Erik starts. 

"Get out," Charles tells him, his voice deadly calm. 

"Just listen for a second," Erik demands. 

"Get out," Charles says, "or I'll make you." 

Erik thinks of the tingling feeling Charles has left in his mind, thinks of himself frozen, helpless, he and Shaw poised like puppets as Charles arranged them how he wanted. 

And he goes. 

* * * * * 

Shaw is sitting on the floor when he enters the room again. He looks shaken and confused—he looks _human_. Charles doesn't quite feel concern, though it is something like it, edging up on him like a wave. 

"Are you alright?" he asks. 

Shaw glances up at him, his beautiful words failing him for once when all he can manage is a nod. 

"I'm sorry, that won't happen again," Charles says. 

"Until you run out of time, you mean?" Shaw asks. 

Charles kneels down in front of him, hesitantly reaching out to trace the red marks along Shaw's neck. "I won't let him hurt you again," he says. "Not like that." 

Shaw frowns at him, as though he's some strange creature he could never hope to understand. "You truly wish to help me, don't you?" he asks. 

Charles looks up at him. "Of course," he says. 

Shaw grabs Charles' wrists, pulling them away from his neck to hold between them. Charles watches his actions curiously, but doesn't stop him. 

"Then you should have let Erik finish what he'd started," Shaw says simply, before letting go. "He might have saved us both." 

* * * * * 

Charles stays down in the basement for hours. Erik paces the length of the hall the entire time, under the watchful eyes of Xavier family portraits. He doesn’t know if Charles wants him to be here waiting, or if his 'get out' had meant to reach further than that damn basement. 

But he's not leaving Charles here alone without a fight—not until Shaw is dead. 

Charles appears at the end of the hall, looking exhausted. There are deep black smudges beneath his eyes. He never can sort out his feelings for Charles in the right way. He's afraid for him, but he's afraid of him, too. 

"The deal's off, I want him dead," Erik says firmly. "Now."

"You have no right to demand anything after what you've done," Charles says softly. "I've held up my end of the bargain. He's getting better." 

"And you're getting worse!" Erik shouts at him.

"Erik, no, I'm fine," Charles says, walking up to him. "I know this is hard for you, and I'm sorry. But we're doing the right thing." 

"How can you still think that?" Erik demands. 

Charles leans forward, his hands wrapping around the back of Erik's neck and dragging him down for a kiss. "Everything's going to be fine," he breathes against his lips, and it almost feels like Charles is in his head, calming him down, twisting him around. 

It's not mind-control, but it is manipulation. And it's not how he wants to have Charles. He tries to push him back ."This isn't you," he snaps. 

"Of course it's me," Charles says angrily, pushing away from him. "Do you think I ever do anything I don't want to do?" 

"I think we should ask Raven to come home," Erik says, because he can't seem to reach Charles anymore. He's getting further and further away and the solution is so _simple_ , if he could just get Shaw alone.

"I don't want her here," Charles says. "She wouldn't understand." 

"I don't understand," Erik tells him, surging towards him and grabbing his face roughly, trying to get Charles' to _focus_ —but it seems the only mind that Charles will enter these days is Shaw's. "You're changing." 

"Are you so afraid of change?" Charles asks. "We all evolve. We're living proof of that more than most." 

"You're perfect as you are," Erik says. 

Charles laughs, pulling away from him again. "You know, Erik, sometimes I think Shaw's right about you." 

Erik feels his blood freezing in his veins, a strange chill of dread, running far deeper within him than even his anger can reach. "What do you mean by that?" Erik demands. "What has he said to you?" 

"Only that you don't understand," Charles says. "You don't know what I am." 

"I know you better than Shaw," Erik growls. "He can't understand you, Charles, because you're good, and the concept of good doesn't register with him." 

"You've just proven my point," Charles says softly. "You think in terms of good and bad, of black and white. You don't know how the mind works, because there is no one that is one or the other. We are all made of both."

"And you're trying to what, take Shaw's bad parts into yourself?" Erik demands. "That seemed like a good idea to you?" 

"I can lock it away, because I don't want it," Charles says. "It is not mine so I can ignore it, but Shaw cannot block it because it is his own."

"You're different, Charles," Erik whispers. "Why can't you understand that you're worth more than him? I won't have you save him at the cost of yourself." 

"You still don't understand, Erik," Charles sighs. "Because if you did, you would know that not trying to save him at all would have cost me far more." 

* * * * * 

Charles is the one that connects them, but it still feels as though Shaw creeps inside his head the moment he's in the room. Charles unlocks his cuffs, and tosses the chains away.

"Aren't you afraid that I'll escape?" Shaw asks him. 

“You're not trying to escape," Charles tells him. 

"Yes, and you're rather clever, so why doesn't that worry you?” Shaw asks him. “It worries Erik."

"Erik doesn't believe that you can change," Charles says. "I think you can. Don't you?" 

"Oh, certainly," Shaw agrees. "It's just that it's so much harder to get better than it is to get worse." 

Charles watches Shaw carefully, and cannot help but agree. 

“You know what’s next, don’t you?” Shaw asks, leaning forward. His eyes seem kinder, and so does everything Charles can see lurking behind them. 

“I do,” he says. 

“Erik won’t be happy,” Shaw tells him.

“Leave Erik to me,” Charles says, and when he leaves and locks the door behind him, it’s more performative than anything else. 

* * * * * 

“I want you gone,” Charles says. “I really don’t know how much clearer I could be.” 

Eric stares back at him in disbelief. “This isn’t you,” he starts. 

“You’re holding me back, Erik,” Charles says, strangely gentle. “I have to watch myself so carefully around you. You want me to limit my power. You don’t want me to be who I really am—you, of all people, should understand exactly why that’s something I cannot let stand.” 

“I have no problems with your power,” Erik denies. 

“You just don’t want it ever to touch you?” Charles asks, looking up at him sadly. “You want me harmless. I’m not harmless, Erik.” 

“I won’t leave you alone here with him,” Erik tells him, utterly certain. “You’d have to kill me.” 

“I don't have to do anything of the sort,” Charles says calmly. 

Erik wakes up the next morning in a rundown motel an entire state away, with no memory of how he got there. 

And no memory of the way back. 

* * * * * 

Charles left him everything else, but Erik isn’t sure whether or not that’s actually better or worse. 

He keeps driving down old roads in New York, and somehow always ends up back in the same exact place he started. He wonders if he would see the mansion, even if it was right in front of him. He’s not sure of what Charles actually did, what he’s actually capable of, not anymore. 

Giving up isn’t in his nature, but he’s near his breaking point, preparing to turn around and try to regroup when he sees a figure standing in the middle of the road. 

Raven is wearing her favorite blonde disguise today, and she leans down beside the driver’s side window. “There’s something wrong with Charles,” she tells him, and Erik just stares back at her, unimpressed. “I’m guessing you know that.” 

“He kick you out too?” Erik asks. 

Raven opens the car door, waving him over. He slides his leg over to slip into the passenger seat, letting her take his place. “No, because I’m smarter than that,” she says, as she puts the car back in drive. “I told him what he wanted to hear. _Why yes, Charles, you are so incredibly powerful, of course you had to send Erik away._ ” She turns and looks at him, assessing. “So are you going to help me kill that bastard Shaw, or what?” 

Erik flashes her sharp grin, and it’s answer enough. 

* * * * * 

Raven splits off to distract Charles and keep him busy, but Erik knows he won’t have long. It’s really too bad that he’s going to have to make it quick. 

Shaw barely looks up when he enters the cell. He’s staring at his hands, looking thoughtful, and quiet in a way that sets Erik on edge. If there’s one thing he’s always been certain about with Shaw, it was that he was a force of nature—his power made him manic. He was always just barely controlled. 

He expects to find him smug, confident of the changes he’s been making in Charles, in the way he’s been corrupting him. 

For the first time, Erik wonders if maybe the changes have been going both ways. 

“I suppose you’re here to kill me,” Shaw says, conversationally. He looks up and his eyes seem depthless, shining in a way that sets Erik’s teeth on edge. 

He feels no pity for this man, but the rage isn’t what it was before. This isn’t about revenge any longer, this is about salvation. “I have no choice,” he says. “I never did.” 

“No, you never did,” Shaw agrees, looking up, something sly in his expression that reassures him this is still the same man, that this is still the same monster he always was. “But I’m afraid you’ve left it far too late.” 

Erik raises a hand, and the empty metal chair in front of him splits apart, the slats that had sat along the back sharpening at the ends and then raising above the rest, pointed straight at Shaw. “It’s never too late.” 

“You really don’t understand telepaths at all, do you?” Shaw asks, curious, as he leans forward, entirely unconcerned with the razor sharp slats of metal aimed right at his chest. “Charles is far too deeply entrenched in my mind for you to harm me without harming him." 

“He’s not in your mind right now,” Erik says. 

“There is very little difference in our minds right now,” Shaw says, tilting his head. “And if you kill me now, you’ll never get him back.” 

“Do you really think this will save you from me?” Erik asks. “Because I thought you knew me better than that.” 

“You misunderstand,” Shaw says, “I’m not telling you this to save myself. I’m trying to save _him_. He won’t get better, if you kill me now. He’ll get worse.” 

“He’s right.” 

Erik jerked back, careful to keep Shaw in his line of sight as he checked to see Charles standing in the doorway. Raven rushed in behind him, her eyes wide and worried, but she didn’t look like Charles had done anything to her. She wouldn’t be worried, if he had. 

“Charles, you need to leave,” Erik says. 

"I can't," Charles says, “because you were right, Erik, about the evil, and now it’s in me.” 

Charles approaches and Erik moves back, even though he knows he can’t stop Charles, that there was no one that could. But all Charles does is move to stand between him and Shaw. He places himself right in front of Erik’s metal projectiles, so that if he lets them go they’ll slam right into his heart. 

“I should have listened to you,” Charles said. “Now you’re going to have to kill both of us.” 

“Charles—“ Raven cries, choking back a sob. But she’s too smart to get any closer. 

“Get out of the way, Charles,” Erik says, trying to stay clam. Charles’ blue eyes are looking back at him, but they’re unfocused, and his irises look like shards of glass. 

“I don’t know what I am anymore,” he says. “Am I Shaw? I don’t feel like Shaw. I don’t want to hurt you, Erik. I don’t want to hurt anyone.” 

“So don’t,” Erik snaps. “And get out of the way.” 

Except Erik can’t get through to him. Charles barely seems to acknowledge him. He just steps forward, a little closer to the sharp points of Erik’s projectiles. Instinctively, Erik tugs them back. 

“Charles,” Shaw says sharply, and before Erik can even be angry about him speaking, he sees it work. 

Charles turns towards him like he can’t help it. “I’m sorry,” he tells him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

“No, you never could,” Shaw tells him. “You destroyed me, instead. Do you understand now?” 

“Yes,” Charles tells him, “I understand.” 

“You took away everything I am,” Shaw says. “And I want it back.” 

Charles shakes his head. “Everything we’ve done here—“ 

“Was for _nothing_ ,” Shaw snaps, getting to his feet. “There was nothing that made me the way I am. There’s only _what I am_. And you took it.” 

Erik directs two of the projectiles around either side of Charles, and presses them nearly to Shaw’s chest. Shaw holds up his hands, a mockery of surrender, but keeps his eyes on Charles. 

“I want it back,” Shaw says. 

Charles fully turns around, putting his back towards Erik, and starts towards Shaw. 

“Charles, stop,” Erik snaps, but he can’t stop him. He won’t hurt him, even now. He’s trying to save him. So he can only watch helplessly as Charles steps right up to Shaw, and presses his hands to the side of his head. 

“You know what this will do to you?” Charles asks, as his fingers splay in Shaw’s hair. 

“We are who we are, Charles,” Shaw says.

“Erik, stay back,” Charles tells him, before returning his eyes to Shaw. “Hold on until it’s over.” 

“Charles, wait, what—“ Erik protests, but whatever he's doing, it's over almost before it begins. Charles breaks away with a pained scream, catching himself against the table, while Shaw steps back smoothly, his eyes warily watching all of Erik’s many weapons. 

“What did you just do?” Erik demands. 

“I gave back what I took,” Charles tells him, swallowing hard. “Now it’s gone. God. Oh my god. What have I—what did I do?” He looks back at Erik, and his eyes are pained but they’re _Charles_ , through and through. “What did I do to you?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Erik says. “Just come over to me.” He doesn’t trust the way Shaw is looking at Charles, with admiration and something else, something possessive. “Charles? Come to me.” 

“You really should listen to Erik more, Charles, dear. In fact, I’d suggest you run,” he says, grinning madly. He spreads his hands as his power begins to crackle around his fingers, shining out through his skin. The walls light up, ready to contain it, but Erik’s not sure if they’re going to be enough. “Because now I remember what I am.” 

Erik seamlessly reforms his weapons into a metal shield, sliding it between Charles and Shawn, then he grabs Charles around the waist and drags him from the room. He shoves Charles at Raven before slamming the door shut behind them, and bolting and locking the door. A blinding light flashes from inside, shining out from the seams of the door, with a deafening roar like a thunderclap might sound if you standing right on the cloud. 

When Erik hesitantly reaches up to open the metal panel covering the only window on the door, he sees nothing inside of the cell except the charred black walls. 

Shaw is gone. 

* * * * * 

Hank has a theory about what happened; he thinks Shaw turned himself into a bomb, his energy all exploding out, only there was nowhere for it to go in that room. It hit the anti-energy barriers and burned itself out. 

"So, he's dead, right?" Erik had asked. 

"Oh, definitely," Hank had assured them. 

Charles isn't as certain, because there are times he can hear Shaw's laughter coming out of the walls—can hear his scattered thoughts floating down the stairway like dandelion seeds. _I do so miss our little talks._

He won't go down to the basement anymore. He imagines that Shaw is still sitting there, hands clasped on that charred table, eyes on the door. 

Just waiting to be let out.


End file.
